1919
Lois
2013
Lois Andrews
October 23, 1919 — December 2, 2013
Fairhope, Alabama
Lois Smith Andrews, 94 years of age passed away Monday, December 2, 2013 after a long illness. She was born October 23, 1919 in Barbourville, Ky to the late Henry Tyler Smith and Myrtle Mae Marcum Smith. She was the widow of Willard Marshall "Andy" Andrews of Inman, SC.
Lois left Barbourville, Ky in 1937 for a civil service post at the Pentagon in Washington, DC where she continued to work for 11 years as a secretary to several high ranking officers.
She married Willard Andrews in 1950 and is survived by two daughters, Debra Davis and husband Robert of Idaho Falls, Idaho and Paula Andrews Ingle and husband Harry of Fairhope, AL, one grandson, Daniel Marshall Ingle of Safford, AL and one great grandchild.
She has six surviving sisters; Dorothy Lawless of Tennessee, Hanna Faye Smith of Indiana, Lydia Harley of S.C., Troy Moore of Ohio, Nell Chassereau of S.C. She was preceded in death by 2 brothers; Paul F. Smith of Indiana and George I. Smith of Indiana.
A graveside service with the immediate family will be held at 10::00AM at the Roselawn Memorial Gardens on Friday, December 6, 2013 in Inman, S.C. Conducted by Dr. Jack Hames.
Note: The family found multiple copies of the following poem in Mrs. Andrew's papers and notes when she gave up housekeeping in 2003-2004 and went to assisted living. It is not known if she wrote it or just very fond of it since an author was never noted.
You Tell On Yourself
You tell what you are by the friends you seek
By the very manner in which you speak
By the way you employ your leisure time
By the use you make of dollar and dime
You can tell what you are by the clothes you wear
By the spirit in which your burdens you bear
By the kind of thing at which you laugh
By the records you play on the phonograph
You tell what you are by the way you walk
By the things of which you delight to talk
By the manner in which you bear defeat
By so simple a thing as how you eat
By the books you choose from the well-filled shelf
In these ways and more you tell on yourself
So there's really no particle of sense
In an effort to keep up false pretense
Lois Smith Andrews, 94 years of age passed away Monday, December 2, 2013 after a long illness. She was born October 23, 1919 in Barbourville, Ky to the late Henry Tyler Smith and Myrtle Mae Marcum Smith. She was the widow of Willard Marshall "Andy" Andrews of Inman, SC.
Lois left Barbourville, Ky in 1937 for a civil service post at the Pentagon in Washington, DC where she continued to work for 11 years as a secretary to several high ranking officers.
She married Willard Andrews in 1950 and is survived by two daughters, Debra Davis and husband Robert of Idaho Falls, Idaho and Paula Andrews Ingle and husband Harry of Fairhope, AL, one grandson, Daniel Marshall Ingle of Safford, AL and one great grandchild.
She has six surviving sisters; Dorothy Lawless of Tennessee, Hanna Faye Smith of Indiana, Lydia Harley of S.C., Troy Moore of Ohio, Nell Chassereau of S.C. She was preceded in death by 2 brothers; Paul F. Smith of Indiana and George I. Smith of Indiana.
A graveside service with the immediate family will be held at 10::00AM at the Roselawn Memorial Gardens on Friday, December 6, 2013 in Inman, S.C. Conducted by Dr. Jack Hames.
Note: The family found multiple copies of the following poem in Mrs. Andrew's papers and notes when she gave up housekeeping in 2003-2004 and went to assisted living. It is not known if she wrote it or just very fond of it since an author was never noted.
You Tell On Yourself
You tell what you are by the friends you seek
By the very manner in which you speak
By the way you employ your leisure time
By the use you make of dollar and dime
You can tell what you are by the clothes you wear
By the spirit in which your burdens you bear
By the kind of thing at which you laugh
By the records you play on the phonograph
You tell what you are by the way you walk
By the things of which you delight to talk
By the manner in which you bear defeat
By so simple a thing as how you eat
By the books you choose from the well-filled shelf
In these ways and more you tell on yourself
So there's really no particle of sense
In an effort to keep up false pretense
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